


Normal in a Free Fall

by Army C (arh581958)



Series: #GallavichWeek [9]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar!Ian, Canon Compliant, Day 2 - Times when Ian and Mickey got each other's backs, Far Future, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Future Fic, GW2017A, Gallavich, Gallavich Week, Gallavich Week 2017, I can't believe there's a tag for that, I'm a proud mama, M/M, MICKEY MILKOVICH USES HIS WORDS LIKE A BIG BOY, Mickey Uses His Words, Protective!Mickey, caring!mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:10:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Army%20C
Summary: Not all days are good days. Ian knows this. He knows this by heart. He's gone through this shit before. Now, though, he doesn't face this shit alone when it happens.(Or: Inside Ian Gallagher's head during on of his episodes)





	Normal in a Free Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: Gallavich Week 2017 A Day 3 - Alternative S7 Ending
> 
> FIRST, let me tell you right off the bat; **this story is triggering**. Consider yourself warned. It's emotional, expressing the way Ian thinks when he goes under. 90% of what he says, what he thinks about, what he does is an effect of his mental disorder. 
> 
> Lastly, I apologize for posting this late. Hope you still enjoy it.

Not all days are good days.

Ian knows this.

More than half a decade of dealing with this shit—of seeing doctors, of trying meds, of getting better—but there are days when it just feels like the world is falling apart.

It hits him when he’s least expecting it. Of course, it does. He’s always got a plan—a back-up—for this in case it happens. That’s why it’s always when he forgets the back-up—forgets he plan—when it hits him with an intensity of 10 on the Richter scale.

The plunge into the abyss is always the worse. Every time. All the time. No exceptions. It’s like looking inside a bottomless well, hearing the echo but never reaching the unknown end. Lesser men have failed to overcome it. What chance does a dysfunctional Southie like him have? Nothing, that’s what.

This time, it takes him deeper than before.

He goes home—he tries to. He can barely figure out left from right, back from front, up from down, by the time he realizes what’s happening to him.

“Ian?” Mickey’s voice sound somewhere in the distance.

Ian knows it’s there—Mickey’s there—but the rationale part of his brain doesn’t want to respond to any of it. Instead, he moves further from the voice.

Alone—that’s where he needed to be.

“Yo, asshole, c’mon.”

Ian doesn’t want to move. The floor seems like a reasonable place to stay. It’s better than the bed. Summer just rolled in so it’s hot enough in their shitty living room. He won’t freeze to death if he spends one night here. Crawling to the bedroom is too tedious.

There’s heavy footsteps coming from behind him.

It’s Mickey.

Of course, it’s Mickey.

It’s always been Mickey.

The two of them may have escaped the Southside but that doesn’t mean that they’ve escaped being _them_. They both carry the scars of their past with them. For Mickey, it’s the knife wound on his left side. For Ian, it’s this—the worse goddamn thing he could have possibly inherited from Monica.

Fuck Monica.

Fuck Frank.

Fuck Clayton.

Fuck the whole fucking fucked up world.

Ian just wants to stay put and disappear. He doesn’t want to remember how fucked up he really is. They might be in a whole new neighborhood but he’s still the same Ian—bastard, military fuck-up, ex-gogo dancer, and all the other combinations he can think of. He’s that Ian.

“Damnit!” He curses, punching the floor beside him. The wood’s old but think. It withstands the punch with an audible groan.

Mickey’s there a second later.

“Oy, fuckface,” he says in his usual southern drawl. “Ease up, Ginger-ass. We don’ts gots ‘nough cash to fix this shit. Shit’s already shitty as it is. Don’ make it shittier. I ain’t cleanin’ up the mess if ya get ya bloody handprints on it. Wood’s a bitch to clean.”

Old Mickey. New Mickey. It’s _his_ Mickey _._ Either way, in anyway, he’s always going to love Mickey.

“C’mon,” Mickey says, prying Ian off the floor.

It takes momentous effort to haul a six-foot-eleven piece of white trash from the depths of despair. Mickey deserves better. Mickey shouldn’t have to deal with this. Mickey can live a much easier life if he just takes off and leaves.

Ian doesn’t realize he’s saying all this. He doesn’t realize he’s moving until the breath gets punched out of him as he flops on the bed.

“I didn’t choose ya ‘cause you was easy,” Mickey tells him. He’s only vaguely aware of Mickey speaking. “Ya a fucker, but you're  _my_ fucker. It ain’t perfect but it’s our perfect. How many—fuck!” Something large and heavy hits the wall behind their headboard.

“Ian, _jesus_ , how many times I gotta tell ya that you ain’t broken? This is it. You’re it. We’ere. We’re livin’ the fuckin’ dream. S’not fuckin’ playin’ house no more. I ain’t playin. _This_ —” Ian feels a warm breath on his forehead, followed but a soft pair of lips, “—ain’t playin’. I stayed, man. I meant it—crazy—not crazy, you’re mine, Firecrotch. I ain’t givin’ ya up to no one.”

And, fuck, Ian can’t help the tears when they start to fall.

All of it is Mickey from all those years ago when he asked Ian to stay. He remembers being pulled into Mickey’s embrace the way he’s being held now. Back then, he felt nothing but emptiness as Mickey pulled him close right there on his childhood house’s porch.

This are different now. He realizes exactly how much Mickey loved him then—and still loves him now. It’s the same but it’s different. The intensity is the same but the level of it is different. He can’t help the tears and the hiccups, and all Mickey does is hold him like he’s the most previous thing on the planet.

“I love you,” Ian says, sounding like an apology and a plea.

“Damn right, ya fucker,” Mickey whispers back.

They’ve done it. They’ve made it. There’s still a long rocky road ahead of them, but Ian knows that they’ll work through it together like two old married queens.  

**Author's Note:**

> For those who do not know me, please know that I am also diagnosed with bipolar. This is personal in a way. It reflects how it _could_ happen, and how it has happened to me before. Not everyone is the same. Not all episode are equal. I hope that I was able to convey just how much of a free fall this disorder can be. 
> 
> PS. For those who _do_ know me, I hope you caught the story reference to one my previous works. (Hint: Gallavich Week 2016). 
> 
> ***
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated. Support the struggling author. 
> 
> As always, if you liked or enjoyed this fic, you should know what to do. **Comment/Kudos/Bookmarks** are always appreciated by this author. :) 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)


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